


Lights Will Guide You Home

by SleepingReader



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Friends to husbands more like eeey, M/M, soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-15
Updated: 2019-07-15
Packaged: 2020-06-29 02:55:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,214
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19821091
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SleepingReader/pseuds/SleepingReader
Summary: Crowley was lost, hopelessly lost. He was also drunk.Then, a little light appeared in the street. It winked away when he got closer.He wonders where it leads.But you, my dear reader, never need to wonder where it leads.Because of course, it leads to him.Years later, Aziraphale finds himself dreadfully lost in the English Countryside.Will Crowley help him get home?Of course he will. This is that sort of fic.





	Lights Will Guide You Home

Crowley was lost, hopelessly lost. He was also drunk. Dreadfully drunk. So drunk he didn’t remember that sobering up was even an option. Why was he so drunk, you might wonder?  
He got commended for something dreadful, something he didn't do. So he solved it by the only way he could. Copious amounts of alcohol.

And it worked, for a while. But now, sitting in the gutter, waiting for the spinning of the world to bring him home again, he had no idea where home even is.  
‘Heyy heeeyyy.' he drawled to a couple of college guys walking a very small dog. ‘D’you know where I live?' it almost sounded helpless. The guys were about to start to walk towards him, but the dog made a run for it.  
Crowley stared blankly into space as the guys kept chasing the dog over the street.

Suddenly, a little twinkle in the corner of his eye.  
As if someone left a single fairy light on. It didn’t illuminate the street, but it did reflect in the damp cobblestones. Crowley stumbled up.  
‘Heh.' he said. Tried to touch it. It flickered and disappeared. Then appeared again a few meters further, leading to the main road.  
‘Nnnonooonnnoo.. Come backkk..' Crowley giggled and followed the light.  
It disappears and reappears again as he followed it through the winding streets of London. He could have sworn it looked both ways before crossing the street.

He followed it for a long time, not quite sobering up, but the night air did wonders for his muddled brain. To the idle passer-by, it looked like the tall long-limbed individual was chasing fireflies.

He crossed one last street and the light disappeared. But it didn’t reappear again. No more fairy lights to follow. Crowley looked around confusedly, twisting on the spot, mildly upset he lost a little bright friend

And then a light twinkles on in the window behind him. A door opens with a soft chime.

‘Come in my dear.' the voice he could recognise anywhere invited him. It's a good voice.  
He stumbled forward into the Angel's arms. Aziraphale laid a warm hand on his forehead and the fuzzy alcohol-induced anxiety faded, leaving only slumber in its wake. Aziraphale helped Crowley over to the couch and eases him down. A warm blanket enveloped him. Crowley whined faintly at the loss of contact, but Aziraphale had already picked up his book and had lifted Crowley’s head to rest on his lap.   
Just as Crowley dozed off, he could smell Aziraphale, the warm bookshop and the fire. He could taste the dust falling off the cover of the ancient book Aziraphale was reading.  
And he heard the pages turn as a song plays in the background

_’Lights will guide you home. And ignite your bones. And I will try... To fix you’_

——  
They never talked about it afterwards. Aziraphale thought Crowley might not remember.  
He couldn’t have been more wrong.

The apocalypse came and went, and things were left said and unsaid.  
——

It wasn’t much later that Aziraphale found himself hopelessly lost in the countryside. He had already had some mild trouble with a cow. Aziraphale, being an angel, naturally loved every single creature and being. The cow had disagreed. She had chased him over a fence, which, naturally, tore his coat.  
The observational reader might wonder what Aziraphale was doing in the countryside. The answer is quite obvious: Aziraphale was after a book. The book, in question, was called _Don Quixote_ and its first editions were rather hard to find. Aziraphale had hoped to acquire one in the estate sale of Arundel Castle. But, sadly, the copy had been a fake. A water-logged fake nonetheless.  
So Aziraphale had begun the long walk back to the bus station.  
Where he had missed the bus.  
It was that sort of day.

He just began sitting down upon a tree stump when he heard the faint moo again. He got up quickly and prepared to cross a field, but the hare standing in the middle of it made it quite clear that that would not happen. Angels are beings of the daytime, after all. At night, a whole other division gets to play. He tried to find the main road again, but the trees looked awfully familiar all the time. Wait, had he been here before? How he wished he could just miracle his way out of this! But he just _felt_ Heaven still watching every miracle he did. It would take at least two years before they started getting distracted.  
Two years is a short time for an angel. But eight hours of nighttime are long for anyone lost in the countryside.  
A few drops of rain told him that nighttime was about to get a whole lot longer.  
He was just about to curl up under a tree and wait. For morning, or for the rain to pass. Whatever. And then he saw it. A small flame, black in the centre, then shifting to yellow, then red. Hovering above the grass.  
Could it be?  
He stepped closer to it, reached out.  
The fire was cool on his skin.  
He _knew_ those flames. And he _knew_ what they meant.  
‘I thought we agreed no more needless miracles.’ He said to the air.  
The flame burned brighter a moment and then winked out. It appeared a couple of meters later. It chased away the hare.  
Aziraphale sighed. Rain washed down his coat, into his shirt collar, down his neck.  
‘Very well.’  
He followed the flame. Across the field. Over a small river. Down a narrow path.  
Until it reached the main road, where a very familiar car stood parked.  
The flame winked out, and the Bentley’s headlights winked on. The engine started. The window rolled down, all by itself.  
Music played, and it wasn’t Queen. Crowley must have gotten a new CD. Aziraphale could barely hear it above the rain.  
‘Crowley.’ He said.  
Crowley leaned over and opened the door for him. ‘Get in, Angel.’  
When Aziraphale stepped in the car, Crowley handed him a tartan thermos, full of hot, sweet, milky tea. The kind that can keep an army standing.  
He took a sip, and it was as if his bones were slowly warmed over a fire. Aziraphale sighed contentedly and Crowley started driving.

‘So.’ Crowley began conversationally.  
‘Please don’t.’  
‘Cows?’  
‘Yes.’  
‘Cows have best friends, I heard.’  
‘I can confirm that. They do. And they’re both bad cows.’  
Crowley snorted.  
The music played on as Crowley pulled into a familiar street. And finally, Aziraphale could hear it above the rush of the rain.

_’Lights will guide you home. And ignite your bones. And I will try... To fix you’_

Crowley opened the car door for Aziraphale and lead the way to the little cottage. He snapped the door open with his fingers and sat Aziraphale down in a chair by the fire. A sudden _swoosh_ of warm air and Aziraphale’s clothes were completely dry. He turned to Crowley.  
‘I thought we said no more frivolous miracles?’ He said, half sternly, half fondly.  
And Aziraphale’s husband took off his glasses. He placed a kiss on Aziraphale's forehead. To a casual observer, his next comment sounded rather off-handedly.  
‘Looking after you has never been frivolous, Angel.’

**Author's Note:**

> I heard Coldplay's Fix You and did this.  
> Thanks for reading! Comments keep me on the write path, so I'd love it if you left one!


End file.
